


Man of His Word

by Anonymous



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Incest, M/M, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock owes Mycroft a favour, and insists on repaying it with sex. Mycroft is not enthusiastic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man of His Word

"You don't have to do this."

"No, no, I insist." Sherlock's voice was hard. "A promise is a promise, I won't go back on my word."

His head was tipped back, the better to stare down his nose at Mycroft. Mycroft recognized that jutting chin, it meant his little brother was about to do something entirely bull-headed, and trying to reason with him would only make it worse.

"I never asked you for sex. The kind of favour I had in mind was more in the line of running a little errand for me."

Sherlock's eyes glittered triumphantly. "But it's what you _wanted_. It's what you've always wanted. Do you think not going through with this is going to make me forget?"

It was all too obvious that Sherlock was going to use this weakness he had revealed to torment him forever. If Mycroft refused him, the chocolates and boiled sweets in the mail would be replaced by sexy texts, the meetings in cake shops and restaurants would be supplemented with teasing caresses and suggestive body-language. Sherlock never, ever let go of an advantage over him.

If he went through with it, he might convince Sherlock it was out of his system.

Mycroft would do it quickly, in the way least likely to be damaging to Sherlock's psyche.

"All right. Stand there, and lean back against the wall. I am going to suck you off." He pulled the seat cushion from the chair, and threw it on the floor.

Sherlock went white. Without a word, he stood against the wall where Mycroft had indicated, and hugged his arms tightly around his chest.

He had to make this quick, but he also wanted Sherlock to believe he had repaid his debt, so that he would let it go. Mycroft kept his expression blank, and his eyes on his own hands as he undid Sherlock's trousers. Sherlock most likely wouldn't understand that having his brother give him this out of a perverse sense of obligation was not pleasurable for Mycroft.

In the polished surface of the mahogany table, he could see that Sherlock had squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away. Good. A mouth was a mouth, and not looking would make this easier for Sherlock to bear.

The penis in front of him was clean, with a pleasant scent of light, musky sweat. It was flaccid, and easy to suck completely into his mouth. Mycroft concentrated on the flavour, and the prickly brush of pubic nair against his nose, and let out a little hum of pleasure.

He swirled his tongue around the head, and kept up the suction. He held on to a hip with one hand, and stroked his other hand up the inside of a thigh. Sherlock's body was rock hard with tension.

Mycroft pictured his last lover behind his own closed eyes, and moved his free hand down Sherlock's thigh to his own front. He started jerking his crotch, as if he had an erection. Sherlock wouldn't be able to tell the difference from the angle of any of the reflections available to him in the room.

He thought of Bryant's delicious cock, the needy little moans and groans he made, the way his thighs trembled under Mycroft's hands when he was close to coming. This time his sound of pleasure was only half faked.

The stomach under his forehead was growing less tense, and the penis in his mouth began firming. He pulled off enough to tease the urethral opening with his tongue, and sucked the penis in again. This time it was big enough to fill his mouth completely. 

Bryant. Bryant's knobbly knees, when he wore only dress socks and suspenders. The way goose-flesh sprang up all over Bryant's back, when Mycroft ran an icecube down his spine. He moved his head up and down faster. The penis was completely hard now, and he heard a muffled whimpering sound from above.

He tightened his hold on the hip, and let go of his own crotch, so he could fondle the testicles. His chin was in the way - this was easier lying down. But also more personal.

He sucked harder, and squeezed the testicles ever so slightly. From the slickly wet feel of the hip, and the gasping noises, orgasm was imminent.

"Mycroft!" 

The cock in his mouth pulsed, just as Mycroft inelegantly pulled off in shock, and Sherlock's come shot on his upturned face. Sherlock's mouth was hanging open in slack-jawed surprise, and his eyes were riveted on Mycroft. They were not cold or hard at all.

Mycroft stood up. "You wanted this. Me."

"I never said I didn't." Sherlock was flushing, and turned his head away again. He was pinned between Mycroft and the wall, hemmed in by the heavy table and the standard lamp.

His lashes looked wetter, but it might have been merely sweat. Mycroft didn't want to spook his brother; he could be awfully brittle if he was feeling vulnerable.

He kicked the seat cushion away, and took a step back. With a single finger he turned Sherlock's face towards him, gently, ever so gently.

"I love you."

It was difficult to say, he almost had to force the words out his thick throat. But it was worth it when Sherlock smiled at him, and relaxed into his arms.


End file.
